


Day nine; Illness

by Poketrash48



Category: Original Work
Genre: Fainting, Illnesses, Original Character(s), Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:19:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25798045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poketrash48/pseuds/Poketrash48
Summary: Don't go biking while you're sick, you may pass out at work like Elliott did.
Kudos: 6
Collections: Writer's Month 2020





	Day nine; Illness

**Author's Note:**

> Day two of making Elliott suffer, my bad.

For most, getting sick meant a day off from school or work, lounging around in their pajamas, and sleeping in all day. For some, however, it meant missing a day of work, leaving them behind on rent or going yet another week without groceries.  


When Elliott woke up after a restless night, he knew a sick day was inevitable. He went to bed last night with a pain in his head, sweat down his back, and his limbs heavy. He didn’t bother setting an alarm for school; he needed the energy to work and pay bills, not learn about calculus.  


He rolled onto his back, staring at his paint-chipped ceiling. He turned his head and got a glance at his clock; 1:03 pm. With a groan he pushed himself up to a sitting position, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and onto the floor. He held his head between his hands, the world spinning around him.  


“Fuck.” He whispered, his voice completely gone. He swallowed what felt like a mouth full of needles, another pain to add to the list. He grabbed his phone, not even bothering to check it.  


He slowly hoisted himself onto his feet, one hand holding his phone, the other holding his head. He opened his bedroom door to see his kitchen starting to sway, his vision going fuzzy around the edges. He swung his hand down, slamming it on the already cracked kitchen table.  


“Shit.” He mumbled while falling into a chair. He crossed his arms on the table, now using them as a pillow for his head. He sighed deeply, which only led to a few coughs from the man.  


~~~~  


He wakes up in his kitchen, not remembering when he fell asleep. He squints down at his phone, the time 2:47 pm. Adrenaline rushes through him as he runs back to his room to change for work, the fact that he was sick completely slipping from his fever fogged brain.  


He threw on a pair of jeans, a white polo shirt, and hung his apron around his neck as he grabbed his work bag and bike and ran out the door. He nearly fell down the stairs leading to the sidewalk, but caught himself on the lone tree out in front of his apartment building. He peddled as fast as his achy legs could, dodging people, weaving between cars, and cutting through tight alleyways all to get to work on time.  


He fumbled with his bike lock behind the craft store, not realizing how much his vision was starting to fade out. When he heard the faint ‘click’ of his bike lock, he ran inside. He stumbled through the isles towards the owner’s office where he had to clock in.  


He flung the door open with a loud ‘bang’ when it hit the wall. The owner flinched, throwing the few papers she had in her hand.  


“Elliott!” She yelled. The teen was standing in the doorway, sweat dripping down his face as he wheezed, trying to catch his breath.  


“Hey...Emerea.” He gave a weak wave before crashing to the ground, his head meer inches from Emerea’s desk.  


~~~~~  


He woke up in a bright room on a loveseat, a cold rag on his head. He grabbed the rag and held it over his face between his fingers, watching as a water droplet threatened to fall on his face. He watches and waits for the water to fall, but the door opens before it could fall.  


“Oh thank the lords,” Emerea whispered under her breath. “How are ya feeling?” She asked, closing the door behind her.  


“Mm good.” He rasped out, his voice still shredded. “What happened?”  


“You passed out in my office. Why didn’t you just call me and say that you were sick, my boy?” Emerea sat in a folding chair across from the slowly waking Elliott.  


“Rent.” He said, putting the cold towel back on his face, this time covering his eyes. God, he was tired.  


Emera sighed. “You have a fever, Elliott; a bad one. I’m driving you home, ok? Go unlock your bike and throw it in the trunk, I’m honestly surprised you managed to bike here and not fall off of it.” She chuckled nervously.  


“‘M fine, ‘m fine, you don’t gotta drive me home, I can...I can get back m’self.” He tried to sit up but his arm gave up and he flopped back down on the couch.  


“Suuuure. I’ll give you a few minutes to wake up a bit before taking you to the car, ok? Take your time though, I don’t wanna see you pass out again; once was far more than enough.” She squeezed Elliott’s shoulder before starting to head back towards her office.


End file.
